


i'd trade my life for yours

by clintbartonswife



Series: it's not fair how much i love you [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Torture, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt No Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Psychological Torture, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Whump, im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25877677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clintbartonswife/pseuds/clintbartonswife
Summary: Jaskier will be loyal to Geralt until his last breath, this he swears.He stepped forward into the light, pink eyes flashing at him, “I think it’s high time we shut you up”The taller man grinned, a shark-like expression that just added to the bard’s discomfort, moving behind him to grab him by the sides of the head, tilting him so that his neck was bared to the room.They’re going to slit my throat, Jaskier thought absently, half delirious with pain,this is it.The slimy tendrils of magic prodding at his mind made Jaskier’s eyes widen in panic, struggling against the bonds in a fruitless effort to get away from the unsettling sensation.No. No this was so much worse.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: it's not fair how much i love you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877845
Comments: 12
Kudos: 154





	i'd trade my life for yours

**Author's Note:**

> if you read chapter one of the series linked to this, the beginning here is the same - I finally wrote that alternative ending!  
> you can skip to the part where Jaskier says 'Goodnight my love' as that's where I've written the new things x

Jaskier had always felt too much, falling a little bit in love with almost everyone he meets. The seamstress from Beauclair with the deepest green eyes he had ever seen, the knight from Kerack who had muscles the size of Jaskier’s head, the innkeeper and his wife from Rinde who had the warmest smiles he had ever seen.  
All loves that he treasured, yet let go after a night or two, the heartache keeping him company until he found another gorgeous person to fall for.  
When he finds Geralt at the ripe age of 18 it’s different, for once the bard doesn’t want to leave, a nagging feeling pulling him along the path by the Witcher’s side.  
His love grows easily, from that of shallow appreciation of his honey golden eyes to a fierce want to protect his love from those that scorn him in every village they visit, a need to nurture the fragile relationship they were building.  
It’s only Jaskier’s luck that the only person to ever intrigue him enough to stay seems to want him to leave, impenetrable walls built around his heart.  
So, Jaskier writes songs of their travels, being respectful of Geralt’s boundaries whilst still trying to provide as much tender love and care as he could without scaring the Witcher, all the while falling deeper and deeper in love.

Everything starts to go wrong after the djiin.  
He watches through the window as his heart breaks with every thrust of Geralt’s hips, the Witchers disinterest (which he had assumed was general Witchery distance) suddenly making more sense - he just didn’t like Jaskier.  
Still the bard stayed, sewing his heart back together with every step he took beside the Witcher. His affectionate touches didn’t falter, not allowing his own personal hurt to affect his Geralt negatively. He still deserved as much softness as he could bring himself to provide - Melitele knows Yennefer wasn’t providing that.  
Jaskier funnelled all of his creative energy in to his songs, more and more of them staying in his private notebook, too personal to be sung in front of Geralt, let alone the general public.  
After each time they met with Yennefer, Jaskier was there to pick up the broken pieces the Witch left behind, baring the brunt of Geralt’s bad mood for a week after she had gone, heart chipping a little more each time as his hatred for the woman grows.  
The last straw was the dragon hunt. The whistling winds whipping Jaskier’s hair in his eyes as Geralt’s words lashed out at him, vicious and hateful.

In the following two weeks, Jaskier drank to forget, falling back into old habits and into strangers beds with a new desperation.  
The young farmer with hazel eyes - not as beautiful as Geralt’s. The miller’s daughter with blonde hair - not light enough.  
The people begin to blend together, yet it doesn’t work. The heartbreak still radiates through his body, numbing him from any other emotion.  
He’s too drunk to register that Cintra has fallen.  
Too drunk to hear the rumours of the bounty on his head.  
Too drunk to notice the Nilfgaardian soldiers entering the tavern.  
Too drunk to defend himself against their arms that steal him away that night.

When he awakens the next morning, head throbbing with the familiar pain of a hangover, Jaskier is hit with a wave of nausea.  
Turning his head to the side, he reaches for the bed-side table, blanching when he finds his arms restrained. It takes a few seconds to register that he’s in unfamiliar surroundings: the distinctly tavern smell (of weak ale and piss) gone, the slightly scratchy linens of the bed replaced with a hard wood surface.  
Unrestrained panic swelled up in the bard’s chest, his instincts kicking in as he tried to mimic sleep.  
‘ _Just breathe slowly, keep your eyes closed and stay calm_ ’ repeated through his brain, sounding suspiciously like Geralt’s voice.  
“-the bastard up yet?”  
“He wasn’t the last time I checked, no sir”  
“And no sign from the Witcher?”  
“None sir”  
Jaskier heard a scoff as the door opened, two sets of feet stopping at the side of the chair. Unnerving silence fell for a few seconds, before a heavy kick was given to his ribs, punching the air from his lungs in a loud exhale.  
“Now listen here, bard” the bigger of the two men all-but-growled, looming over Jaskier as the singer blinked heavily to clear the daze that had settled over him, “We’re going to make this real simple. You tell us what we need to know, and maybe we wont kill you”  
Scrunching his nose in disgust, Jaskier considered his options, “What is it that you want to know?”  
Another scoff.  
“Maybe he’s not so useless after all” the tall man sneered, exchanging an amused glance with the man stood in the corner, “Tell us where the Butcher of Blaviken is”  
Self preservation was forgotten as the nickname stirred up anger deep inside Jaskier, the unfairness choking him, “I’m afraid I don’t know any butchers, not the biggest fan of hanging around long enough in towns long enough to befriend anyone in that profession I’m afraid”  
That earnt him a sharp slap, the sting helping to ground him.  
“Don’t try to be smart. Where is the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia?”  
“Oh, I do know him” Jaskier answered, tone kept light and conversational, “Of course I haven’t seen him in months so I’m afraid I’m really of no use to you gentlemen”  
Another slap.  
“Now that must be a lie. Why would the Witcher leave his little whore behind?”  
Now that one stung, the frown forming on Jaskier’s face before he could stop it.  
“Aw, struck a chord with that, did I? He found someone else I assume - though Melitele knows how anyone can lay with a monster like -”  
Rage finally overflowing, Jaskier spat in the man’s face, “How dare you call him a monster. He’s a better man than you’ll ever be”  
A bitter chuckle, followed by a punch that left the bard tasting copper.  
“I think you might actually be in love with that thing” he said, amused, “That just makes this all the more fun”  
Jaskier held eye contact with the man, glowering as he slowly spat out the pooled blood onto the floor.  
“Tell me where he is”  
“No”  
Two punches to his stomach, and a hard kick to his shin.  
“My sister hurt me worse than that for stealing her brush when we were seven” Jaskier sneered.  
“Where is he”  
A backhand across the face, followed by three hard kicks to his ribs.  
“ _Toss a coin to your-_ ”  
Another heavy kick to his stomach, winding him slightly as he keeled forward, a burning pain spreading over his chest.  
“ _Oh valley of plenty_ ” he wheezed, forcing his head back up to stare at his captor’s face.  
The day carried on very much the same, Jaskier working through his repertoire of songs as he was beaten black and blue, the lyrics keeping him focused and alert.  
The man in the corner just stood and watched, his silent presence looming over the beating.  
“I must say” Jaskier eventually huffed, directing his words at the man in the corner, “Your indifference to this situation is highly annoying. Are you not enjoying the performance?”  
His question was met with another heavy hit to his stomach, the skin there surely covered in a patchwork quilt of forming bruises.  
“You bore me”  
The voice was cold, cutting through the pain like a knife and replacing all feeling in his body with the need to flee, an innate wrongness surrounding the man.  
He stepped forward into the light, pink eyes flashing at him, “I think it’s high time we shut you up”  
The taller man grinned, a shark-like expression that just added to the bard’s discomfort, moving behind him to grab him by the sides of the head, tilting him so that his neck was bared to the room.  
 _They’re going to slit my throat_ , Jaskier thought absently, half delirious with pain, _this is it_.  
The slimy tendrils of magic prodding at his mind made Jaskier’s eyes widen in panic, struggling against the bonds in a fruitless effort to get away from the unsettling sensation.  
No. No this was so much worse.  
He could handle pain. He could handle taunting words and harsh treatment. The one thing Jaskier couldn’t handle was _fucking mages_.  
“No - “ he gasped, voice distorted by the angle of his head, “ _please-_ ”

Yellow eyes. Lips curled in to a snarl.  
The mountain.  
“ _Damn it, Jaskier!_ ”  
No. No no no no no no no. Not this. Anything but this.  
“ _Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, its you, shoveling it?_ ”  
White hair. Curled fists.  
“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands”  
Wet eyes. Shattered heart. A wasted life.  
“ _Damn it, Jaskier!_ ”  
And it looped. Again, and again, and again,

“Ready to talk, bard?”  
His eyes fluttered open, eyelids heavy, fighting to remain closed.  
“Fuck. You” he hissed, words mangled through gritted teeth.  
The mage smirked, fingers reaching for his temple again, “Very well. It seems like one hour wasn’t enough”  
The last thought Jaskier had before being pulled back to the mountain was one of horror, _that one hour had felt like an entire day_.  
When he came to once more, Geralt’s voice still ringing in his ears, Jaskier realised there was a new man in the otherwise empty room.  
“Going to talk yet little birdy?” the man asked, voice far too light for the circumstances, his posture reminiscent of those that approached him in taverns with hopes of charming him into bed that night.  
The realisation occurred to him as he noticed his hands were free, a rusty cot added to the corner of the room.  
“No” he whispered, the horror palpable in his tone.  
“Well that’s too bad” the man sneered, his too-rough hands dragging him out of the chair and towards the cot.  
The irony was that in that moment Jaskier would’ve given anything to have been back on that mountain, Geralt blaming him for everything, rather than be faced with his current reality.  
Of course, the mage wasn’t kind enough for that.

Jaskier wasn’t sure how many days had passed since his capture.  
What he did know was this: his throat was too sore to speak, ruined from both abuse and lack of water; his body was so mottled that it looked like he had begun rotting, greenish-yellow marks covering almost every inch of his skin; his back shredded by the impromptu whipping session earlier that morning; and he wasn’t sure he could muster a smile, even if informed of the untimely and gruesome death of Valdo Marx.  
But, no matter what they threw at him, he would not betray Geralt.  
He had made this vow to himself during a quiet moment on (what he guessed was) the second day, that no matter what faced him - be it further torture, mutilation and eventually death - he would not speak a word of the little information he knew.  
He may have ruined Geralt’s life, may have annoyed him with his incessant and unwelcome company, but one thing Jaskier could give him now was his undying loyalty, the one thing that no one could take away from him.  
They wouldn’t take away his love.  
So he breathed steadily as he looked as his hands, tied down firmly to the arms of the chair, taking in every detail of the calloused fingers that made him the famous bard that he was today.  
“Last chance. Where is the Witcher”  
Jaskier just grinned, the smile bloody and insincere.  
“Fucking your mother I would imagine” he croaked, withholding the wince of pain from the strain on his throat, instead widening his grin at the look of anger on the man’s face.  
With a growl, the man brought the hammer down heavily on Jaskier’s left ring finger, smiling sickeningly at the bard’s agonised scream.  
“Where is he?”  
Head fuzzy with pain, Jaskier scowled and spat his blood in the man’s eyes.  
The sickening crunch of bone echoed around the small room, Jaskier’s scream ringing out as another two fingers were smashed.  
The line of questioning continued until all of his fingers were unrecognisable, the bard humming ‘ _Fishmonger’s Daughter_ ’ through tears as he tried to regain control of his breathing.  
“What a shame” the captor said, fake sympathy swimming in his cold eyes, “Looks like you’re worth even less than you were when we found you. What worth is a bard if he cant play anymore?”  
The man pretended to think, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “Of course! A brothel worker!” He paused, tutting again and shaking his head, “No you cant even be that, we’ve made you far too ugly”  
Jaskier tried to ignore his words, focusing on his rattling lungs instead, forcing them to inhale and exhale.  
Unconsciousness crept forward, the pain finally overwhelming him, Jaskier falling into it’s open arms gladly.

“-cher isn’t coming for him. We’ve had the word out for two weeks and got nothing”  
The words drifted in to Jaskier’s cell, the conversation prying him from sleep.  
“So what do we do? The bard’s not talking”  
“We were meant to give a destination by yesterday”  
“So we make one up, blame the bard when it comes back empty”  
“… That could work”  
“Then I’m guessing we kill him afterwards?”  
“Theres no reason to keep him”  
“Well-”  
“You’re not using army funds to feed just so he can be your personal whore, Cahir would skin you alive if he found out”  
Jaskier huffed a laugh at that - the realisation that his worth had finally been reduced to what his father had called him all those decades ago, ‘ _a worthless whore_ ’, ‘ _useless to polite society_ ’.  
The conversation carried on, though Jaskier’s mind drifted, thoughts racing yet head surprisingly clear. He shifted in his seat, only slightly to the left, wincing as the healing whip wounds on his back pulled open again, the stinging pain keeping him tethered to consciousness.  
Not for the first time, he wondered where Geralt was. Safe, that he was sure of, hidden from the greedy eyes of the Nilfgaardian army if their unhappiness was anything to go off of.  
Had he found Cirilla yet?  
Was Roach okay?  
Was he taking proper care of himself?  
And - in even his lowest moments - he found himself wondering how Yennefer was.  
If she was handling the break-up better than he did.  
If she was safe, happy, looked after.  
Or maybe, perhaps even back with Geralt. The three of them playing happy families while Jaskier rotted in a cell and waited for a hapless death.  
Being on your deathbed gave you a lot of perspective, Jaskier had realised, and he found it hard to even hate Valdo on occasion (until he regained some energy from a piece of stale bread thrown at him and immediately felt disgusted that the thought had even crossed his mind).  
As the fog in his brain seemed to seep into his dimming vision, his thoughts returned to Geralt’s eyes.  
“ _Goodnight my love_ ”

The news reached Geralt as they were passing a backwater town.   
“The bard Jaskier - I swear it was! They dragged him out t’wards the Nilfgaard base”  
“Tom stop jabbering, they would’a been shouting that from the rooftops if they got ‘im”  
Coldness seeped into the Witcher’s bones as the words registered in his brain, his eyes flying to Yennefer. The sorceress was looking at him with pity in her eyes.  
“I can try scrying-”  
“Please”  
Ciri watched in awe as Yennefer set up her equipment that night in their camp, bouncing with barely restrained curiosity at all the new instruments that the mage seemed to summon from nowhere.  
The young princess’ enthusiasm calmed Geralt slightly, focusing on her youthful movements instead of the dread that settled over him at the thought of Jaskier’s current situation, guilt hitting him every few minutes as he replayed their last conversation.  
‘ _If life could give me one blessing-_ ’  
“He’s in Neunreuth” Yennefer said, looking up with a solemn expression, “in a Nilfgaardian fortress”  
“They were right” the Witcher breathed, utterly defeated.  
“So we’re going to get him right?” Ciri asked, enthusiasm now dampened by the morose mood emanating from the two adults.  
“Of course”   
Yennefer quirked her eyebrow at his firm reply, before nodding in agreement, “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow”

Geralt knew the second he stepped out of the portal that something was wrong.  
“He cant be here” he thought aloud, “It’s been abandoned”  
Yennefer frowned, her expression telling him everything she refused to say out loud, “He’s here”  
“No”  
Striding forwards, the Witcher advanced on the old manor house, nose picking up on the scent of Jaskier’s blood the second he reached the front door.  
“No!”  
Strides turned in to a sprint as he chased the scent, denial still swirling through his brain as he got closer and closer to the muted wildflower scent.   
“ _Jaskier_ ”  
The name fell from his lips as his knees gave out from under him, the sight of his bard’s limp body hanging from the chair punching all the breath from him. The smell of rusted blood was overwhelming, a pool in the corner dating back months.  
Geralt sat there, disgusted by himself as he imagined how long Jaskier had waited for him to come and rescue him, how long he had stayed faithful to a _monster_.  
He wasn't worth Jaskier’s life.  
He wasn't aware he was crying until Yennefer laid a hand on his shoulder, “Geralt-”  
“No” he hissed, struggling to his feet and moving over to the bard, “he cant be dead - he -”  
Eyes wild, he turned around to face the sorceress, rising to his full height, “Fix him. I know you can - you did it last time”  
“Geralt-”  
Anger overtaking him, he pulled Jaskier’s limp body into his arms, unaware of how much his own hands were shaking.  
“FIX HIM. YOU NEED TO FIX HIM NOW”  
“Geralt stop”  
“YOU NEED TO FIX HIM” he shouted, falling to his knees again, cradling the cold body in his arms as he sobbed, “Please fix him, Yen I need - I need you to fix him please”  
The woman sighed, brushing a hand over Jaskier’s temple, looking for any sign of life.  
“He’s gone"  
Geralt’s cries could be heard in the next village over, lasting well into the night.

Not long after, tales of the White Wolf, Princess of Cintra and the Raven Sorceress were spread far and wide, the image of Cahir’s head on a stick engraved in the public’s minds.


End file.
